


Sensitive Steele Redux

by SteeleHoltingOn



Series: RS Alternate Universe: We Wish It Would Have Happened This Way [15]
Category: Remington Steele (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, angst with happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-28
Updated: 2009-05-28
Packaged: 2018-08-08 05:49:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7745608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SteeleHoltingOn/pseuds/SteeleHoltingOn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After returning from Ireland, the Steeles have a few things to work out</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sensitive Steele Redux

**Sensitive Steele Redux  
  
  
** Mildred grimaced as the Steeles arrived at the agency together again, only to retreat into their separate offices  
without a word.  In the two months since their return from Ashford Castle in Ireland, whatever relationship her  
kids had prior to their dubious wedding had dissolved into hurtful silences, biting remarks and cold looks.  
  
Laura confessed to Mildred only yesterday that they still hadn’t shared a bed.  What should have been a tender  
moment in Ashford Castle had degenerated into a snarling fight over Tony-the-Rat’s phone call.  Mr. Steele  
blamed Mrs. Steele for encouraging the American spy, and she countered with anger over his attempted fake  
marriage to a hooker.  All this had resulted in the pair's taking turns sleeping on Mr. Steele’s couch.  
  
More fighting had ensued over where they were to live for the next two years.  It was a simple fact that Mrs.  
Steele’s piano would never fit into the condominium, but perhaps on mere principle, Mr. Steele stood firm  
about refusing to climb three flights of stairs each day.  
  
Uncomfortable with going out in public with things as they were and unable to find a neutral zone in their  
homes in which to work out their problems, the agency became a retreat for each of them, with their individual  
offices as fortresses with walls not to be breached.  
  
Anyone could see that they were in love with each other.  All the snapping and snarling was about hurt feelings  
and injured pride which, if left unassuaged, would tear the couple apart.  
  
The tension had become so thick that Mildred dreaded going to work these days.  Not one to meddle, at least  
not too often, she’d decided after Laura’s strained confession that enough was enough.  She began looking for  
opportunities to make things better.  
  
A breakthrough came when Dr. Gerald Steinmetz of the Friedlich Spa contacted Mildred about a billing  
question.  With his soon-to-be ex-wife in jail, the good doctor had to learn her half of the business in short  
order.  He asked Mildred to pass on his congratulations to the newlyweds, and Mildred’s brain kicked into high  
gear.  
  
“Dr. Steinmetz?”  
  
“Gerald, please.  After all that Mr. and Mrs. Steele have done to keep the spa open, surely you can call me by  
my first name.”  
  
Mildred smiled, tucking the phone a little more securely under her ear.  She eyeballed both office doors to make  
sure they were firmly shut.  “Gerald, then.  Do you offer retreats for newlyweds?  I know they enjoyed certain  
aspects of your spa a great deal even though they were working at the time.  And I’m sure you know how hard  
it is to be married and work together too.”  
  
“I do, Mrs. Krebs.  I'm positive I can offer some excellent advice on how not to conduct a partnership, and I  
have even better ideas on keeping the communication lines open.  We’re revamping parts of our program to  
address those very issues.  Now, for newlyweds, we have a special three-day retreat once a month, and it’s  
coming up next Thursday.  Would you like me to sign them up?  With all they’ve done, I’d be happy to waive  
the regular fees.”  
  
“Sure thing, Gerald.  I’ll make sure they get there.”  Mildred smiled happily as she hung up and began the  
process of clearing the Steeles’ schedule for a long weekend.  
  
  
  
When Wednesday rolled around and Mrs. Steele consulted with Mildred on the next day’s schedule, she played  
innocent, remarking that the spa was on the schedule for the next three days.  
  
“What?  I thought we were done with that case?” Laura muttered.  
  
“Mr. Steinmetz said that there were things that he needed you two to look into, and we set it up for you to  
participate in the next weekend retreat.  I checked with Mr. Steele and he said it would be fine.”  
  
Laura ran her hand through her hair, pushing her lengthening bangs to the side.  She stifled her initial angered  
retort at Mr. Steele’s highhanded tactics when it came to her schedule and then let out a resigned sigh.  Weary  
of the constant fighting, she longed for the days when she and Remington were only frustrated from sexual  
tension.    
  
Not looking forward to three solid days of his company, she frowned and crossed her arms.  “All right,  
Mildred.  What time do we need to be there tomorrow?”  
  
“Check-in is at nine in the morning, so you’ll need to get an early start.”  Mildred noted that Mrs. Steele was so  
distracted by the prospect of being forced into her husband’s company that she failed to ask what they were to  
be investigating.  
  
Lost in thought, Laura only nodded and retreated to her office.  
  
  
  
She had a stack of case files that she'd brought home just as she did almost every night.  Remington had  
assumed she brought them as an excuse to avoid him in the evenings, but as the weeks wore on, he’d begun to  
suspect this was part of her normal routine.  With her hair in a ponytail, wearing a ratty t-shirt and sweatpants,  
she curled up on one end of the gray sofa with a file folder.  
  
He scooted a stray one over a few inches so that he could sit on the other end of the sofa.  Picking up the  
remote, he clicked through a few channels on the television, stopping at a black and white movie.  He spent a  
couple of minutes studying it before mentally reciting, _Cary Grant, Ginger Rogers,_ _Once Upon a Honeymoon_ _,  
RKO, 1942_.  A glance at Laura confirmed that she hadn’t looked up from her pile of papers.  
  
“Do you ever do anything for fun, Laura?  All you do is work.”  He winced when his words came out sharper  
than he intended.  
  
Slanting him a hard look, she came back with an acid reply, “Sorry to disappoint you, but this is what I do for  
fun.  It’s how I keep my job, Mr. Steele.”  
  
He picked up one of the files, looked at the name on the edge and then flipped it open.  “This is the Beasley  
security contract.  What needs to be done on this one?”  He thought he’d completed it two weeks ago and given  
it to Mildred to put away.  
  
“I have to review it and sign off on it, Mr. Steele.”  
  
“You still have to look over every damn thing I do?  Don’t you trust me--never mind that.  Don’t answer.”  He  
slapped the file shut and threw it on the couch.  
  
She closed her eyes and bit her lip before coolly answering, “If you would get your own private investigator’s  
license, it wouldn’t need my signature.”  She went back to reading the file in her hand.  
  
Flabbergasted, he shot back, “Are you telling me that every time I’ve written up a case file or a security  
contract, you’ve read every single one and signed it?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“But I thought you didn’t understand most of the security measures that I have installed?”  
  
In response, she handed him a thick notebook containing the manufacturer’s information on the equipment he’d  
purchased and notes she’d made on how he’d used the different pieces in various situations.  She jotted a note  
in the margin of the paper in front of her and kept reading.  
  
He turned the pages of the notebook, reading the remarks she’d written throughout.  Then he picked up the  
Beasley file.  “You study each one until you understand the ins and outs of the security system before you sign  
off on it.  Why?”  
  
“Because you’re the security expert, not I.  I didn’t do much security before you came along, remember?  If       
I’m going to learn about it and understand what you do, I need time--time I don’t have during the day.”  
  
He clenched his jaw and asked the burning question anyway.  “Why don’t you take my word that it’s properly  
equipped and installed?”  
  
Absently, she answered, “I do, but it’s my license.  If I’m questioned on something I’ve signed, I’d better know  
the answers or else I can lose it.  Since I’m the only licensed investigator in the agency, none of us can afford  
for me to take that chance.”  
  
Remington propped his arm on the side of the sofa and rested his cheek against his knuckles, wrinkling his    
brow in confusion.  “You’re telling me that you’ve studied every single security contract--the schematics, the  
equipment and the installation until you've understood every aspect?”  
  
“Yes,” she sighed.  
  
“Good Lord, Laura.  That’s an enormous amount of work.”  He nibbled on his thumb, wondering how he’d  
missed this facet of what she did in the agency.  
  
“Yes,” she repeated.  
  
He waved his hand in the air to encompass the files between them on the sofa.  “You did this before we …  
before?”  He couldn’t call it a marriage now, could he?  
  
“Most nights--unless I was with you.”  She put down her pen and yanked out the tie holding her hair in a  
ponytail.  With her fingers, she scraped it all back again and snapped the hair band into place.  She rubbed the  
back of her neck for a second to relieve the stiffness there and then picked up her pen again.  
  
He watched her work and made a quick mental calculation--revealing  that she probably put in close to eighty  
hours a week on the job, figuring in nights and weekends.  He narrowed his eyes as he took in the shadows  
under her eyes and the way she shrugged her shoulders to relieve the tension in her neck.  
  
“What can I do to help?” he ventured as he clicked off the TV.  
  
“Get your license so you can do all the explaining.”  Laura was rather snippy in her reply, but she’d tried talking  
him into taking the test nearly six months ago.  In the past year, the contracts had grown increasingly complex  
as their reputation grew.  So far she’d kept up with the technology, but it took more and more of her time to  
understand the finer aspects of Mr. Steele’s work--not to mention that they were doing a great deal more of it  
than ever before.  
  
With his own sigh at her short temper, he reached for more patience and asked, “What can I do tonight?”  
  
She dropped her pen on the paper.  “You’re serious?”  This was the longest conversation they’d had in nearly  
two weeks and certainly the first time he’d offered to help.  
  
“I’m serious.”  
  
Handing him the file, she asked, “Explain this to me in plain English so that I don’t have to look up every item  
on that list.”  
  
He glanced down at it, noting that it was a job he’d finished early last month, and then looked back at her.    
“Why haven’t you asked me to do this before?”  
  
She shrugged.  “I didn’t want you to think I was checking up on you.  It’s just something I have to do as long  
as you don’t have a license.”  
  
“What if I did have a license?”  
  
“Then I could put this file in the cabinet and forget about it.  You already wrote a clear, comprehensive report  
and that’s all we need.”  
  
“How much of this,” he picked up the stack of files, “is work of mine that you’ve been studying?”  A sick  
feeling wound around the pit of his stomach as he remembered her temper when he’d laughed off taking the  
test on the basis that what they’d been doing had worked well enough so far.  He’d thought there wasn’t any  
need for her to know that tests in general terrified him.  
  
She looked down at her hands and picked at a thumbnail.  “Most of it.”  At his arched brow, she amended, “All  
of it.”  
  
Vehemently, and with a creative bent, he swore--and Laura flinched at his reaction.  “You haven’t told me this  
because you want to protect what--my pride?”  
  
She shrugged again.  “I suggested that you get your license once before … and now doesn’t seem to be the time  
to make an issue of it.  We’ve been--"  She stopped and looked away.  
  
“Fighting tooth and nail over every little thing,” he finished.  
  
Laura nodded as her expression saddened.  
  
Abruptly, he stood.  “Do you want a glass of wine?”  
  
Startled, she nodded again and he strode to the kitchen, returning with two glasses of a smooth cabernet.  One  
he handed her, and the other he set on the coffee table as he moved closer to where she was sitting.  He opened  
the file and began explaining the details of the security system he’d installed, using his finger to trace the plans  
he’d drawn out.  
  
At first she asked explicit questions, and he was newly appreciative of the depth of knowledge she’d absorbed  
from her studies.  Later though, he looked down and found her sound asleep on the arm of the couch.  It     
wasn’t even ten-thirty.  
  
Quietly, he gathered her files and notebook and placed them on the dining room table.  Then he returned and  
lifted her into his arms.  For a woman who hardly weighed anything at all to begin with, she’d lost weight in  
recent days and he shook his head.  He’d always thought she ate while stressed, but he’d been wrong.  Nervous  
Laura ate.  Uptight Laura survived on only coffee, yogurt and the occasional piece of fruit.  
  
In her sleep, she turned to him and slid one arm around his neck.  If she’d seen the lost expression on his face  
at that moment as he held her close for the first time in weeks, they might have resolved their differences then  
and there.  Instead he laid her on his bed, regretting the moment her hand slipped from his shoulder.  Tired of  
the distance between them, he had few ideas for bridging the gap that grew deeper and wider by the day.    
  
With only soft movements for sound, he dressed for bed in the darkness.  Since Laura slept on, he didn’t  
bother with his dressing gown, carrying it and the extra blanket for the sofa under his arm and tossing them onto  
the couch.  
  
He leaned against the frame of the bedroom door, watching her.  Each night she slept on the bed, he had to  
struggle with his own desire to lie with her.  When she was on the sofa, he fought equally hard not to bring her  
to him.  She was the one for him.  The only one.  But in over four years he’d been unable to pick the damned  
lock to her heart, and she sure as bloody hell hadn’t given him the key.  He was losing her by inches, and losing  
his mind in the process.  Frustrated and wearied by the fight, he approached the bed.  
  
Vaguely aware of his moving about, Laura floated along in hazy dreams, comforted by his presence in spite of  
herself.  When he leaned over the bed to retrieve his pillow, she opened her eyes and caught his hand as it  
brushed by hers.  “Stay,” she whispered.  
  
Remington froze, unsure if he’d heard her correctly.  He looked down to find her drowsy eyes had drifted shut  
again, but she laced her fingers with his and tucked their joined hands against her heart.  
  
She nearly sobbed in despair when he disentangled his hand from hers and left her alone in the dark.  As on so  
many nights before, slow tears trickled onto her pillow as she drifted into sleep again.  
  
  
  
When the alarm clock sounded at five in the morning, the annoying buzz insinuated itself into her dream,  
becoming a klaxon siren of an ambulance rushing by.  About the time she awakened enough to recognize the  
sound, Remington stood beside the bed and slapped it off.  He scrubbed his shadow of a beard.  “Laura, what  
is so important that you have to get up at five a.m. on a Thursday?”  
  
“Not me, we,” she muttered.  She sat up and started to run her fingers through her hair but caught her fingers  
on the band still holding her crooked ponytail in place.  A curse and a yank had her hair falling down around her  
face and Remington swallowing hard at the lovely tousled creature in his bed.  
  
Good Lord, he was tired of this impasse.  “What do you mean, ‘we’?”  
  
“The Friedlich Spa, remember?  Mildred said you agreed to look into something else for Dr. Steinmetz?  We’re  
supposed to be there for the next three days.”  She yawned, covering her mouth with the back of a hand.    
“Check-in is at nine, and we have a fair drive with morning traffic and all.”  
  
He didn’t remember that, but then again he’d been distracted as of late and may have missed it entirely.  
  
A mere forty-five minutes later, the couple headed down the LA freeway.  That was one thing Laura liked  
about Mr. Steele.  He often seemed to be frivolous and obsessed with his image, but as with so much else, it  
was only a front.  In somewhat under fifteen minutes, he’d showered, shaved and dressed.  Another ten had his  
bag packed for the long weekend.  When she appeared in the living room, case in hand, he handed her a  
thermos of coffee and they headed out the door.  
  
As was their habit of late, only the morning chatter of KROT filled the silence of the long drive while the pair  
tried not to think of the revelations and disappointments of the night before.  Remington still had the uneasy  
feeling he’d missed an opportunity last night to close the gap between them, but per her usual modus  
operandus, Laura acted as if nothing was amiss, leaving him in doubt once more.    
  
  
  
Mildred’s meddling became all too clear when Gerald personally greeted them at the registration table.  “Mr.  
and Mrs. Steele!  May I offer my congratulations on your marriage?”  They both gave him awkward smiles and  
handshakes.  “I’m delighted you two chose to join us for a newlywed retreat.  Mildred said you both had  
enjoyed quite a few things about our program when you were here last time.”  
  
Laura shared a quick glance with Mr. Steele and realized by the clench of his jaw that their interfering associate  
deceived him too.  Her false smile faltered until he slid an arm around her waist with one hand and nodded.  
  
“We did.  It was most enjoyable and we’re glad to be back.”  He flashed his public smile and Gerald nodded in  
response.  
  
“Excellent.  Now here’s the schedule and your room key.  Feel free to get settled over the next two hours and  
then join us for lunch in the main dining room at eleven-thirty.  We have only one rule for the morning.”  
  
“What’s that?” Laura asked as Remington released her to pick up his garment bag.  
  
“Hold hands.”  Gerald smiled and waved them off to help the next couple check in.  
  
She retrieved her own suitcase off the floor and turned away from the table.  Conscious of Gerald’s attention  
and feeling like an errant child, she reached over to catch Mr. Steele’s hand in hers as he began to walk away.  
  
The feel of her warm fingers closing over his made his heart thud.  Without a word, they wandered to the little  
cottage where they would spend the next two nights.  Both of them anticipated a similar arrangement to the  
room they’d had before and were shocked to find that the room contained only a bed and dresser--no sofa, no  
divan.  Unless one of them was willing to sleep on the floor, it appeared that they would be sharing a bed for  
real tonight.  Not only that, it was only a double bed--not a queen.  Close quarters indeed.    
  
Remington immediately decided that he wasn’t going to be the gracious gentleman and offer to make an  
uncomfortable pallet away from the bed.  If Laura wasn’t going to sleep anywhere near him, it would be up to  
her to figure out how.  He dropped his garment bag on the bed to stake his claim and began hanging up his  
shirts and slacks in the tiny closet.  
  
Laura laid her own suitcase on the opposite side and unpacked as well.  Another glance at the dimensions of the  
bed had her biting her lip--half in hope and half in fear.  
  
“We don’t have to stay, Laura.”  
  
She retreated to the bathroom to lay her things on the counter.  When she came out, she crossed her arms. “Do  
you want to explain to Mildred why we didn’t stay the weekend?”  
  
“Ah, no.”  He hated disappointing the older woman in the way a son does his mother.  
  
“Neither do I.  Besides, how bad can it be?” she said lightly before turning away to look out the window.  
  
Remington didn’t answer because it couldn’t possibly be worse than the past two months.  
  
  
  
The couple wandered in the warm summer sun across the grounds to the dining room.  The ocean breeze  
teased Laura’s hair, tugging it this way and that.  Remington restrained the urge to brush it from her face and  
kiss her.  He frowned, trying to remember the last time they’d kissed.  Six weeks?  Seven?  The last time      
they’d gone this long was after that ridiculous Cannes agreement.  
  
They’d fought about sex--or the lack thereof.  He’d lost his temper and yanked her to him where he’d pressed  
his mouth to hers.  She’d shoved him off and slapped him across the face.  He had stepped back and politely  
apologized.  They hadn’t touched since, and he regretted that moment every single day.  
  
They were touching now.  One of the staff walking across the lawn reminded them that the only rule was to  
hold hands this morning.  And so they were.  
  
The few couples scattered the quiet dining hall made hushed conversation.  Remington held out a chair for  
Laura, and they took a seat at one of the small tables dotting the length of the room.  Arthur Henderson walked  
in carrying long strips of cloth.  
  
“Good afternoon, everyone.  I hope your morning has been relaxing and enjoyable.  Lunch will be served in a  
moment, but we have our first challenge for you while we eat and explain how the retreat works.”  He  
approached a nearby couple and rearranged the way they sat before wrapping a cloth around their joined  
hands.    
  
He took the dais and began speaking again.  “Congratulations on your marriages, by the way.  Most of you  
have been wedded just long enough to see that getting married was the easy part.  Now the real work of making  
your marriage last has begun, and we’re here to help you build habits that will keep you connected for a  
lifetime.  This first year of marriage can be the most difficult as two personalities learn to blend.  This takes  
collaboration, cooperation and sometimes outright concession.  But the important part is to maintain your  
connection with your partner in the process.  When you lose that connection, the other parts can become  
impossible.”  
  
“Touching is the simplest part of making that connection.  We are humans who need physical contact to feel  
good.  Some need more than others, but we all need it.  We will share a meal today while holding hands.  It’s  
basic.  It’s primal.  Have a good lunch.”  
  
Remington shifted his fingers in Laura’s after they were bound.  The waiter set down a single plate of steak and  
asparagus in front of them, and they both groaned.  “I suppose this is to be a lesson in cooperation?” he  
muttered to Laura.  She pierced the meat with her fork, and he handily sliced through the slab.  She fed him the  
first bite and herself the second.  
  
His hand felt good.  The simple connection had her wishing she could feel his arms around her.  Tears burned  
behind her eyes, and she flexed her hand in his.  She put her fork down, laying her hand in her lap as she  
looked away to swallow hard to an effort to regain her composure.  
  
She wasn’t the only one whose hand was tingling from the contact.  Remington’s whole being was focused on  
the small areas of skin pressed to hers.  He sensed her distress and, in an effort to make her smile again, stroked  
her finger with his thumb.  
  
“Hey, you might not be hungry anymore, but I could use a hand here.”  She ducked her head to conceal the  
small laugh but lost the battle when she looked up and saw him wiggling his eyebrows at her.  
  
Her smile broadened and her hand clutched his.  “Oh, yeah?  Be nice to me then and I’ll feed you,” she said  
with a hint of attitude.  
  
“Exactly how nice do you want me to be?”  He put just enough edge to that remark that Laura flushed while  
she stuffed another chunk of meat into his mouth.  
  
“I wish I knew, Mr. Steele,” she said with regret.  
  
They ate the rest of their meal in silence--each of them disappointed at their seeming inability to recapture the  
spirit of competition and play that had been a fundamental element to their relationship until recently.     
  
  
  
Afterward, Arthur instructed the couples to change into swimsuits and meet by the pool.  
  
Ursula, the Nordic beauty in charge of "touching and feeling" waited there.  “For the next two hours, we will  
concentrate on physical connection.  Not the sexual kind, although I’m certain you are getting plenty of that as  
newlyweds.”  She chuckled as a nervous titter ran through the group.  “Ladies, I want you to sit behind your  
man and put your arms around him.  Lay your head against his back.”  
  
Laura, clad in only a skimpy bikini, first sat awkwardly behind Mr. Steele, but Ursula had her hug his naked  
torso.  Initially, she only rested her forehead against his back, but as their bodies warmed, she relaxed and  
turned her head so that her cheek rested on his skin.  
  
Damn, she missed this.  Prior to Ireland, she’d become used to his caresses--not only the overt ones in the  
privacy of their homes but the secret ones they shared while working.  No one else knew about the sensitive  
spot at the small of her back that made her flush with desire when stroked.  But he did--and anytime they were  
out in public, he managed to place his fingers on it without fail.  A single brush with his thumb had her sitting up  
straight.  Stroking had her shifting with need and doing her best not to let it show.  And he’d discovered while  
dancing with her one day that she would arch against him with desire when his fingers did nothing more than  
warm that place.  
  
Lost in thought, she didn’t stop her fingers from trailing along his chest and threading through the curls there  
before moving on to stroke his lean shoulders.  When she realized what she was doing, she clasped her hands  
together and simply held him for the remaining time, oddly comforted when he covered her hands with his.  
  
  
  
Remington closed his eyes, reveling in her touch and shifting subtly to accommodate his body’s healthy  
response.  He’d missed her--missed this, missed holding her, missed kissing her.  Her smile, her laughter, her  
wit, all the things about her he’d fallen in---he snapped his eyes open and danced back from that particular  
phrase.  
  
Ursula had them exchange positions.  Remington tried to cover his predicament by folding one leg in front of  
him before Laura sat down, but the instructor insisted that he tuck her body next to his, and Laura sat up  
straight when she discovered his problem.  
  
He whispered in her ear, “I can’t help wanting you, Laura.  I may not be able to do anything about it, but that  
doesn’t mean I don’t want you.”  He brushed her hair from her neck and dropped a kiss there before holding  
her in place with his hands on her waist.  
  
She shivered at the kiss and didn’t struggle when he pressed his chest to her back.  His silky chest hair made a  
soft cushion against his hard torso.  His hand dove into her hair before trailing down her arms, dropping to her  
thighs and then skimming back up to her waist.  
  
Laura tried to stop the little sparks dancing under her skin where they touched but succeeded only in making it  
worse as any movement increased her sensitivity.  He wasn’t helping by stroking with his fingers under her  
breasts, making the peaks tighten and tingle.  
  
Time flew by with the restless motions and subtle caresses.  When Ursula called a halt, Laura scrambled away,  
her face flushed. Remington let her go, wishing she would have stayed.  
  
But they weren’t done yet.  Now the blonde instructor had them face one another.  Remington folded a leg in  
front of him and rested his arm across the knee of the other.  Laura sat, rather prim with her ankles off to one  
side, and studied the blanket they were sitting on.  
  
Ursula continued.  “For an hour, you have been touching--absorbing each other’s presence.  Now it’s time to  
look at each other.  Touch your partner’s face.  Look at your partner; really look.  Rediscover what attracted  
you to your partner in the first place.  Ladies first.”  
  
Laura let her eyes wander up from the blanket, averting her gaze but unable to avoid the evidence of his desire  
for her.  She drank in Mr. Steele’s hairy chest and the firm muscles stretching out his shoulders.  And then her  
eyes landed on his handsome face where clear blue eyes had become a pool of emotion.  In them, she saw  
desire, hope, misery, and a terrible need that should have frightened her.  But she understood all that.    
  
Her fingers followed the path her eyes had made, and Mr. Steele kept his gaze on her pale face while she  
explored.  Aching with physical need, aching more with despair over what they’d become, her throat tightened  
and her eyes burned.  When her thumb stroked a full lower lip, he caught her hand and kissed her palm.  Then  
caught the tear rolling down her face.  
  
She tried to stand, to get away, but quick as a pouncing cat, Mr. Steele shifted his hold on her hand to grasp her  
wrist and snatch her to him.  She landed in his lap, and both of his arms came around her in tight iron bands.     
  
“No, Laura.  You’re not going anywhere.”  
  
“Damn it!  Let me go!” she whispered.  He was such a gentlemen that she sometimes forgot that his long, lean  
muscles weren’t for show.  
  
“No.  Tell me why you’re hurting inside, Laura.”  
  
In response, she laid her head on his shoulder, still mindful that his hold on her hadn’t loosened in the slightest.    
The words she wanted to say were on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t bring herself to be that honest.    
Instead, she fell back on an easier, if no less candid, admission.  “I’ve missed this.  I’ve missed you.”  
  
  
  
After weeks of denial, the feel of her skin on his encouraged a tiny seed of hope into blooming where it had  
nearly died before.  He held her still, afraid to move, afraid to think about the possibilities--afraid to think about  
the alternatives he’d begun to consider about ending their relationship to release them both from the private hell  
they were living.  That blooming hope told him that if she fled, it was over, perhaps for good.  
  
“Then why are we sleeping in separate beds, Laura?  I don’t want this any more than you.”  But she shook her  
head from where she was cradled in his arms and refused to elaborate.  When Remington realized he wasn’t  
going to get any more out of her, he had the urge to drop her into the pool.  
  
Ursula saved Laura from a dunking when she told the couples to reverse roles.  
  
In spite of every muscle in Laura’s body becoming rigid with anticipation, he pretended not to notice and took  
his time trailing his fingers across her face, over her jawbone and through her hair while keeping her locked in  
his arm.  Nearly ten minutes passed before the strain eased from her body, and he relaxed his grip in response.    
He shifted until her head was in his lap, and he played with her hair, letting it fan out across his legs as he  
stroked.  
  
By the end of the two hours, the Steeles--along with every other couple in the class--vibrated with desire.    
Ursula ordered everyone into the pool to play and cool off before beginning the next lesson.  Several couples  
dashed toward their cottages before returning a short time later with satisfied smiles and heady looks.  Others  
merely grinned in anticipation as they splashed in the water.  
  
Laura swam in the pool as she did in the gym, with long strokes that took her from one end to the other.  Mr.  
Steele blocked her on the third pass and said in a quiet voice that wouldn’t be overheard by the laughing couples  
around them, “Please talk to me, Laura.  We can’t go on like this.  We’re both miserable.”  
  
She crossed her arms and rested her chin on them at the side of the pool.  “What else is there to say, Mr.  
Steele?  We’ve aired it all more than once.”  
  
“Then perhaps we need to do it again.  I--“  He stepped away from those words for a second time.  
  
“You, what?”  
  
“I want things to be good between us again,” he substituted.  
  
“Again?  Did we ever have it right?” she wearily replied.  
  
Ursula interrupted, saving Remington from responding to Laura’s complaint.  
  
  
  
The next session involved giving each other massages.  Remington tuned out the teacher’s instructions and  
focused on easing the tension from Laura’s body.  He’d wanted to do this so many times since they’d returned  
from Ireland.  Each night he saw her rubbing her neck or pulling at a sore muscle he wished she would let him  
relieve her pain.  
  
But since that awful fight in Ireland, she’d refused any help and he’d quit offering.  After all, one can take only  
so much rejection.  The single area in which she allowed him any latitude was in cooking dinner.  He cooked;  
she cleaned.  But they never shared a table unless he happened to eat there while she wrote up case reports.  
  
Now he took full advantage of her acquiescence, working every muscle and tendon to relieve the built-up  
pressure.  The third time she gasped as his clever fingers found a particularly sore spot, he swore under his  
breath and muttered, “Damn it, Laura, if you would let me do something about this when it starts hurting, it  
wouldn’t get so bad.  You don’t need to suffer just to stand on principle.”  
  
  
  
If what he was doing hadn’t felt so good, she would have walked away--just on principle.  But her body flatly  
refused to get up no matter what her brain insisted.  She’d forgotten how it felt to not have pain in her shoulders  
and neck.  
  
Long after the other couples switched roles, Remington kept on, stroking and kneading from head to toe until  
Laura was only a limp noodle on the decking.  At last, his sensitive fingers detected no more tension anywhere.    
She had fallen into a light doze as he worked her feet over, and now he sat cross-legged by her head, stroking  
her hair again after working sunscreen into her skin.  
  
She woke.  They were alone by the pool, and the sun was beginning its long summer descent to the horizon.    
“Where is everyone?”  
  
“Changing for dinner.  Care to join them?”  
  
“Do we have to?”  
  
He chuckled, “Ah, only if you want to eat.  I can’t exactly run down the lane for Chinese.”  He stood, offering  
her a hand.  Eyeing him, trying to hide her suspicion, she took it.  For a moment as she stood, every muscle  
quivered.  She had to pause before beginning the long hike to their cottage, but when she began walking, the  
muscles strengthened and she felt lighter than she had in weeks.  With the perpetual strain in her shoulders  
gone, the resultant headache vanished.  
  
  
  
Dinner was casual and rather quiet.  Arthur took to the dais again to issue another challenge.  
  
“Now that you have spent the day rediscovering how to connect with each other, tonight I want you to try  
something different.  First, go for a walk this evening and enjoy your partner’s company.  Second, being  
newlyweds, this is a great time to discover the power of snuggling in bed.  No clothes, no sex, just snuggling.    
Or at least snuggling after sex.  In the nude.  Try it.  You might like it.”  
  
The crowd roared with laughter while the Steeles pretended to chuckle.  An image of a naked Mr. Steele in her  
bed gummed up Laura’s brain while the group dispersed.  Per the instructions, they walked for nearly two  
hours.  While they hardly spoke a word, they did hold hands.  
  
As they approached the little cottage, Laura’s nerves began to jitter until Mr. Steele stopped her at the door.      
“I’m sleeping in that bed tonight.  I’d like you there with me.  But it’s your choice.”  He touched her cheek,  
opened the door and waited for her to walk into the room before following.  
  
She didn’t bother locking the bathroom door, knowing full well that Mr. Steele could pick it with his thumbnail.    
Instead, she sat on the toilet with her arms around her knees until she willed the nausea in her stomach to go  
away.  Eventually finishing her routine, she dressed in a short nightgown and cracked open the door to find him  
waiting patiently for his turn.  While he brushed his teeth, she slid between the covers and waited.  Minutes later  
the bed sagged as it took his weight and he settled in beside her.  
  
The small bed didn’t have enough room for either of them to roll over without disturbing the other, and they  
spent nearly an hour shifting restlessly.  She kept getting tangled in her nightshirt, and he sported an erection  
that could knock down brick walls, though apparently not the one separating them.  
  
Out of pure frustration, Laura yanked the covers back and pulled the gown over her head, tossing it into the  
corner of the room.  Remington didn’t think he could get any harder, but he did as she rose above him.  “Take  
off your shorts, Mr. Steele.”  He was fairly certain they came off of their own accord, and in short order he  
was lying in all his glory on the bed.  Without preamble, Laura lowered her head to take him into her mouth.  
  
Heaven was a whole new place and it was here and now.  He nearly jerked off the bed when her tongue  
stroked the length of him.  When she covered him with hands and mouth and suckled, he had to clutch the  
sheets to keep from yanking on that glorious hair dancing over his stomach and thighs.  Abstinence and sheer  
desire for the woman doing magnificent things to him had him fighting for control almost immediately.  “Laura,  
you’ve got to stop, love.”  He tried to draw her to him, but she only gripped the base of his erection and stroked  
once, twice, three times.   _Icycalmicycalmicycalm…fuck me.  I can’t do this.  
  
_ A breathy voice drifted up as she paused, leaving him twitching and throbbing for more.  “It’s okay.   Don’t  
wait.”  She covered him again and, placing a hand on the tight sac below, squeezed delicately while taking his  
length deep into her mouth.  And he was gone, shouting her name and arching off the bed.  
  
He reached for her, but Laura drifted away from his touch, leaving him confused and bereft.  “Laura?”  He  
dragged his hands through his hair, at a loss to divine her intentions.  
  
In the dark she found a glass of water and drank deeply.  Then she crawled between the covers and turned her  
back to him.  
  
Still shuddering from his release, he touched her shoulder and slid a hand down her arm.  “Laura?” he said  
again.  
  
She could hear the bewilderment in his voice.  “Go to sleep,” she told him.  “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”  
  
Confused more than ever, he dropped an arm around her bare waist in the dark of the night and hoped this  
wasn’t the end.  
  
  
  
Laura slipped from the bed long before dawn and wandered around the grounds in whatever clothes she found  
in the dark.  The mere act of sleeping with him had felt … wonderful.  Right.  Comforting.  
  
Climbing the stairs to the hot tub, she sat on the edge and let her feet dangle in the warm water.  She wanted  
him … all of him.  What she’d done had only whetted the appetite of a starving woman.  Living with him had  
been like straddling the knife’s edge of pleasure and pain--but the anger over what he’d done still burned blue-  
white in her heart.  No explanation satisfied her, and she couldn’t find it in her to let her fury go.  Tired of  
fighting, miserable in her own hell, Laura covered her face with her hands and rocked in despair.  
  
  
  
Remington woke and found the sheets cold.  A quick scan of the room revealed that Laura’s purse still on the  
dresser next to his keys--bringing him a small amount of relief from knowing she was here somewhere. Angered  
at himself for not being aware of her departure and thoroughly confused as to why she’d pleasured him such as  
she had, he lay on the bed.  
  
After a moment, he reached over and brought her pillow to his face, inhaling her scent.  Good Lord, sleeping  
with his arm around her had felt good.  Her body fit into his as if they were made for each other.  Damn it, she  
was made for him.  And he for her.  Why couldn’t he convince her of that?  
  
_Bloody buggering hell_ , he thought.  This all linked straight back to their so-called marriage and he knew it.       
He’d explained to her that he’d panicked, but apparently she wasn’t taking it to heart.  He could feel her  
simmering fury sometimes like the heat from the sun on a bright blue day, and no amount of placating had  
cooled her down.  
  
As he dressed, he wondered how in the hell to convince her that he was exactly where he wanted to be--without  
all the anger and with sharing a bed, of course.  He didn’t know.  He only hoped he could come up with the  
right answers before it was too late for both of them.  
  
  
  
Laura met him at the door of the dining hall, looking rumpled and … defeated?  Remington had never seen that  
particular expression on her face and was taken aback.  The questions he was prepared to demand answers for  
died on his lips before he could verbalize them.  
  
He was even more surprised when Arthur met them at the door with a blindfold and tied it security over her  
eyes.  Remington led her to the table where a magnificent breakfast was already served.  
  
When all the couples had assembled, the instructor explained, “Today is about trust.  What one of you will do  
this morning, the other will do this afternoon.  We have a series of challenges for you to do that will take  
cooperation and faith to get through.”  
  
He had a fair idea of how miserable Laura found the blindfold.  Little irritated her more than being at someone  
else’s mercy, and he tried not to antagonize her that morning.  After breakfast where he guided her through  
eating, the spa had set up a clever obstacle course that promised to take most of the morning to navigate.  They  
were to make their way through and meet again for lunch where they would exchange roles.  
  
Remington did his best to keep his own complaints to a minimum.  As a child of the streets, too much greenery  
and hiking made him petulant.  Give him a cool glass of wine, a little table at a noisy street side cafe, good  
conversation and he was set.  Better yet, hide a set of jewels in a locked safe somewhere and dare him to lift  
them in broad daylight.  
  
The hike was excruciatingly boring as they crossed any variety of bridges, climbed small hills, and once, a rock  
face.  They’d even had to wade across a narrow river full of slippery rocks.  Not once did Laura debate, argue  
or even offer an opinion of what they did.  She listened to him, took her time and followed every instruction he  
gave.  They talked--but she never gave her point of view.  He couldn’t remember the last time they didn’t  
spend at least a portion of their time debating the merits of something or the other.  
  
The material blocked the view of her face, and he was irritated at not being able to read her expressions.  
  
She seemed relieved when the blindfold came off at lunch, but her demeanor didn’t change.  Before Arthur  
placed the fabric over his own eyes, he could see the weariness in hers and muttered a curse.  
  
“Too tight?”  
  
“Ah, no.  Sorry, mate.”  He felt Laura’s hand slide into his to lead him to the dining table.  
  
With Mr. Steele unable to see her expressions, Laura let her facade fall away.  While he ate, she toyed with her  
food--nibbling at the edges of her sandwich before putting it down for good.  
  
“Laura, you need to eat.”  
  
Irritated at being caught, she snapped, “What--do you have ears like a cat too?”  
  
His own temper flashed.  He ripped the blindfold off and slammed it on the table.  In a harsh whisper he said,  
“Either walk out that door to talk, or I will carry you--and I don’t bloody care how much of a Neanderthal that  
makes me.”  
  
Without a word, she dropped her napkin on the table and stalked out the door.  
  
  
  
By silent, mutual consent, they walked to the gazebo that replaced the one that had fallen into the ocean the last  
time they were here.  Uncharacteristically, she sat on the bench and wrapped her arms around her knees.  
  
“What in the bloody hell was last night about, Laura?”  His icy words pelted her; she flinched.  
  
“You were uncomfortable.  I wanted to give you some relief,” she said unsteadily.  
  
“Relief?  Is that all?”  He fumed and clenched his fist before lowering his voice into harsh tones.  “Laura, if I  
want relief, all I need is five minutes alone in the bloody shower.  God knows, I’ve had experience dealing with  
that particular issue when it comes to you.”  Laura dropped her head to her knees as his voice lashed at her in  
fury.  “Just tell me this: do you want me?  Do you want to make love with me?  Sleep with me?  Have a  
goddamned life with me?”  
  
She raised her face, and he could see it was streaked with tears as she nodded.  
  
“Then for the love of Christ will you tell me why you won’t let me have you?” he shouted.  “We’re married.    
We’re sharing a home, a job, a life.  What else is there?”    
  
“Married?”  She uncurled from her place on the seat as her own anger flared into a wild hurricane.  “You call  
this marriage?  How am I supposed to sleep with you and share a life with you when I know damned well that I  
was your second choice?”  
  
“Second--“  Oh, good Lord, he’d never thought about it that way, and his anger fizzled.  He touched his fingers  
to his forehead.  “Laura--“  
  
She wasn’t done yet and stormed about in her fury.  “I’m not a runner-up in the contest to see who gets to  
marry the great Remington Steele.”  
  
Reaching out, he clutched at her waist and pulled her to him.  “Laura--“ he tried again.  
  
She turned and began hitting him with her fists.  “Don’t you get it?  Damn it, I love you.  Do you think I would  
let anyone take you away from me?”  He captured her hands to stop her from hurting him.  She struggled  
against his iron grip.  Her face fell, and her voice was a mere whisper as she added, “But I never really had you,  
did I?”  
  
“Never had me?  My God, Laura--I’m yours.  I have been since the day we met.”  He let go of her hands to  
hold her to him, but she slipped his grasp and retreated to the other side.  
  
“Then why?  Why didn’t you tell me?  Why didn’t you trust me?” she snapped, anguish apparent in every rigid  
line of her body.  
  
He backed up until he leaned against the gazebo wall.  Slowly, he sat on the rail, his eyes never leaving hers.  “I  
didn’t think you would have me.”  
  
Her back stiffened and her hands clutched the wood behind her.  The eye of the storm passed overhead, and  
Laura moved to stand in front of him.  She was eerily calm as the soft wind blew in off the sea.  “I have fought  
for you dozens of times.  I’ve believed in you when no one else would, rescued you from your own misdeeds  
and from those that would harm you, and come after you even when you didn’t think you needed me.”  She  
waited a beat and then added in a quiet tone that reflected all the devastation she held in her heart, “When,  
Remington Steele, are you going to fight for me?”  
  
She turned and walked away as the storm raged between them.  
  
  
  
He found her in the cottage packing her few things, resignation in every line of her body.  
  
The rage of his youth became a living thing as he slammed the door and shoved her case off the bed.  “Fight for  
you?  How in the bloody hell am I supposed to fight you for you?”  He yanked her to him, much as he’d done  
two months ago, and locked his mouth to hers.  She fought with her fists, and he took every blow without  
flinching, finally stopping her by bracing her wrists against the wall above her head.  “I’m fighting for you the  
only way I know how.  I’m staying, Laura.  I’m staying until you leave me.  The last two months have been  
little more than hell, working with you, coming home to you, and knowing that I can do nothing to ease your  
misery.  Damn it, Laura, this isn’t what I want for us.”  
  
She froze at his words.  “I’ll fight you, Laura.  But I’ll do it my way.  You’ll not leave me until you know  
exactly what you’ll be giving up.”  He kissed her, teasing her lips open until he could suck and nibble at her  
mouth.  
  
  
  
Laura struggled against him at first--purely on principle--but as his lips trailed down her neck, lighting a fire  
along the way, she stopped.  She started to make an acid comment about his forcing the unwilling, but she  
couldn’t spit out the lie.  The fact was she wanted him with a desperation that made her burn.  
  
He shifted, holding her wrists with one hand while he yanked at the buttons of her shirt until it hung open, and  
the same hand snaked behind her back to snap the clasp of her bra free.  Fastening his lips to her collarbone, he  
suckled until he left a reddened patch and Laura was panting with need.  “Marking your territory?” she gasped  
out.  
  
“Of course,” he retorted.  Furious with her, he nearly missed seeing her eyes narrow with defiance and …  
desire?  Experimentally, he eased his grip on her hands and shot back, “Lose your clothes, Laura, if you want  
them intact.”  He kept her blocked in with his body as he tugged his shirt over his head and kicked off his shoes  
and socks.  Then he dropped his slacks and briefs and moved in--sliding his hands behind her neck and cupping  
her face with his thumbs to capture her face in a demanding kiss.  With his own hands he brushed away her  
clothing--only marginally aware that she was assisting his efforts.  
  
It was then that she put enough pressure on the back of his knee with her heel that he lost his balance and  
stumbled backward onto the bed.  But his hand flashed out to pull her down with him.  He rolled to brace  
himself over her, noting the challenge in her eyes.  “So that’s how we’re going to play it, eh?”  
  
“Mr. Steele--“  
  
“Remington.  That’s my name, love.  You gave it to me; it’s time you started using it.”  He dropped his head to  
her jawbone and began a relentless journey down her body.  He took full advantage of every trick he’d ever  
learned and combined that with each secret of hers he’d uncovered over the years to coax her body into giving  
him the response he wanted.  And what he wanted was to turn her into a quivering mass of feminine flesh.  
  
It was a slow process that started with her breasts, moved to her hands, dropped down to her belly and slid  
between her legs.  Time after time he had her body begging for release before he changed tactics and moved  
on.  He rolled her to her belly and began kissing and sucking at the small of her back while plucking at her knot  
of nerves.  
  
The tiny whimper she let out told him that she was nearing her breaking point.  She tried to roll away as he  
stopped short of letting her fly--again--but deliberately, he covered her body with his.  While his arousal lay  
heavily at her entrance, he breathed on her neck--trailing nips and kisses under her ear.  “Had enough?”  
  
Exasperated, she hissed, “Yes,” between pants.  
  
“Turn over,” he ordered.  With hardly room to breathe, Laura wiggled underneath him until she faced him, and  
he again settled between her legs, exactly where his erection pressed against her nub.  He held still, but the sheer  
weight on that sensitive point had her trembling in his arms.  
  
“Do you want me?” he asked.  The strain on his own face was evident as he held himself just outside her body.  
  
“I’m not going to beg, Remington.”  
  
“Christ, Laura.  I might.  Tell me you’ll have me.”  
  
Stunned by the desperation in his voice, she raised her lips to his and grabbed handfuls of his hair.  “Yes.”  She  
ravaged his mouth as his body found hers.  Somehow she took control of the moment and drove them both  
until he could only say her name.  She felt him come apart inside her and she followed, pressing upward until he  
slid an arm under her waist and held her to him while she shuddered.  
  
He buried his face in her hair and tried not to put too much weight on her lithe form--but she drew her fingers  
down his back and held him to her.  She closed her eyes, taking pleasure in the feel of his heavy body and  
placing kisses along his shoulder while she stroked his sweat-beaded skin.  Last night began to catch up with  
her, and she longed to do nothing more than sleep entangled in his embrace.  
  
Remington rose on an elbow to trail fingers over her face.  Noting her drowsy, delighted smile, he returned it  
and eased from her before setting in to wrap his arm around her waist.  She winced before she could quell the  
reaction and was thankful he didn’t notice.  He hadn’t hurt her--it had just been an awfully long time.  She  
rolled to her side and snuggled until her head was on his shoulder.  
  
When she woke, nearly two hours later, Remington slept with his hand entangled in hers.  Easing free, she sat  
up and ran her fingers through her hair.  The movement had him stirring and seeking her out.  “Laura?”    
Turning, she laid a hand on his chest, which he captured and brought to his lips for a kiss.  “Do we have  
another chance at this?”  
  
Knowing her heart still ached, Laura didn’t answer at first.  She glanced away, thinking about what he’d said--  
that she would have to be the one to leave.  Feeling his fingers clutch hers, she turned back, trying to fathom  
what she saw in his stark blue eyes.  Hope, need, and a hint of desperation.  At last, she did what she’d been  
unable to do for four long years; she took his word on faith alone.  Trying for a teasing tone, she raised her  
eyebrows and asked, “Are you going to get your license?”  
  
Laughing at her rejoinder, he asked, “Is that all it’s going to take?”  
  
“No, but it’s a start anyway.”  Her words reminded him of the letter he’d written her a few months ago in this  
same place.  
  
He grinned, looking rather rakish at the moment with his hair mussed and falling over his eyes--the strain in  
them sliding away so they only twinkled at her.  Her answering smile had his heart flopping helplessly on the  
covers between them.  
  
  
  
They skipped the rest of the scheduled events and drove home early that evening.  Laura paused at the door to  
the bedroom of his condo and closed her eyes as she remembered the bitter arguments of the weeks prior.    
Remington laid a hand on her shoulder, hugging her when she turned to him.  
  
“I’ll never be able to make up for the mistakes I’ve made, Laura.  I can only tell you that I didn’t want to trap  
you in a marriage you didn’t want just to save me or the agency.”  He dropped his head for a moment before  
looking her in the eyes again.  “I hope I don’t pay the price for that for the rest of my life.”  
  
He looked away for a minute, and she saw that he was swallowing nervously and shifting from foot to foot.  
  
“I … I can tell you that when we got to Ireland, I found a little chapel where I got down on my knees and said a  
prayer of thanks that you were the one I married.”  Her brown eyes widened at his confession, and he stroked a  
hand along a loose lock of her hair and tucked it behind her ear.  “If I could only make you realize that two  
years will never be enough with you.  I want a lifetime, Laura.  I will take a day, a week or a year--but I want  
forever, and that still may not be time enough with you.”  
  
The beauty of the setting sun streaming through the windows had nothing on the brilliant smile lighting up    
Laura’s face.  “Now that, Remington, might possibly be just enough to make me want to stay.  But only if you  
get your license.”  
  
With a sharp inhalation of joy, he swept her off her feet.  “I’ll do that, love.  I’ll do that.”

 

 


End file.
